


How to Save a Princess, Overthrow an Imperial Regime, and Get a Promotion Along the Way: The Selected Memoirs of Whirling Dervish

by aliatori



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bodyguard Romance, F/F, Feelings Realization, High Fantasy, Humor, Necromancy, POV First Person, Sniping and Snarking, necromancy is easy but emotions are hard, smol and tol dynamic strikes again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-26 12:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: Whirling Dervish, an elite mercenary whose services have been retained all over the Thirteen Kingdoms, has been contracted to Aurazellian princess Saerina Locrux for nearly two years. Her task? Keep Saerina alive until she can Ascend to the Ossium and join the Tridecagon, a powerful cohort of necromancers that serve the Empress Undying. With only a month to go on her two year contract, Dervish is so close to freedom she can taste it.But when Saerina makes a discovery that changes her fate and sets her on a daring, dangerous course, Dervish must decide what matters more: loyalty to her charge, or freedom from her service.
Relationships: Cutthroat and Talented Necromancer/Her Reluctant Bodyguard Sworn to Her Service, Whirling Dervish/Saerina Locrux
Comments: 34
Kudos: 36
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/gifts).

> A huge thanks to [Xylianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna/pseuds/Xylianna) for her beta services! Much love. She's an amazing writer and if you have a minute, go check out her stuff.

This could be going worse.

“Devi!”

I look towards the sound of my name and find Saerina the Corpsedancer, her slender brown hand raised and fingers extended, flapping back and forth in a desperate beckoning gesture from fifty feet away. Not too bad—I can sprint the distance in no time to close the gap between us.

I glance behind me, and that’s when I decide that actually, no…

This situation has reached peak ‘worst’.

At least twenty black and silver robes of the Imperial Necromantic Guard are crowding into the antechamber to the throne room. I could reasonably fend off half that number to retreat if I had both sword and war fan—at least enough to buy my headstrong, stubborn idiot of a necromancer enough time to do what she needs to do—but as my weapon hand is currently occupied by a heavy urn full of ashes, I’m fairly certain I’ll be shred to ribbons within the next tic of a bonedust clock if I don’t adjust.

“Devi!” Sae calls again, more urgently than before. She pantomimes a wind up and a pitch with one metacarpal-gauntleted hand.

She cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, be serious about me chucking the ancient, revered, and did I mention _crucial_ object we stole from the Imperial Necromantic Palace’s Mausoleum in the first place. I give my head a firm back and forth shake, almost enough to dislodge my braids, as the herd of black-robed soldiers flows towards me like a veritable river of living death.

Our eyes lock across the chamber and Sae nods frantically, motioning with both hands and bracing herself to catch.

With my choices quickly narrowing to throw or die, I choose what any sane person would choose.

I take the silver, ruby encrusted, engraved urn in my hand and throw it across the room as hard as I possibly can.

But… it occurs to me that to explain why I’m throwing the sacred ashes of Sae’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother across a palatial hallway with certain doom hot on our trail, I probably should start from the beginning.

* * *

On a moonless night in a traveling caravan, after labouring for nearly twenty four turns of dust, my mother gave birth to me, the girl who would become the woman named Whirling Dervish. She—

No, you know what, not that beginning. Let’s give this another try.


	2. Chapter 2

Her Highness Saerina Locrux, heart shaped face pinched in poorly disguised disgust as she peers into my cell, black hair framing her cheeks like a pair of raven’s wings, looks as though she’d rather be embalming rotten corpses than talking to me.

(There we go. This seems right.)

“During the considerable amount of time I have spent in the past two sundeaths bribing, cajoling, and otherwise debasing myself to secure your freedom from prison, Dervish, do you know what the foremost thought in my mind was?”

Oh no. This doesn’t bode well.

“No, Highness, I have no idea.” Better go with the flattery of the title to improve my odds of surviving whatever trial is forthcoming. “Who could be privy to the innermost workings of such a brilliant mind as yours?” Oops. There’s the sarcasm. Well, I tried.

As she paces, my attention is drawn to a key that dangles that from Saerina’s pointer finger, dull brass complimenting the wicked sharp, black lacquered fingernail at its end. “I thought to myself,” she begins, saccharine sweet tones chilling the blood solid in my veins, “what is the point of having one of the foremost warriors in the Empire sworn to protect me if she cannot even evade capture by the incompetent ranks of the city guard?”

“I _could_ have evaded capture.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because I was under, if I remember right, very specific orders not to—and forgive me if I don’t get this exactly right—’leave a trail of eviscerated corpses in your wake this time.’” 

A shadow crosses Saerina’s face like a black cloud rolling over the full moon. “Should I be re-evaluating my choice of Honor Guard?”

I can feel my mind split itself into shards at the question, one I’m not really sure is hypothetical or not. One piece desperately wants nothing more than for my service to be done, to be free of the rules and regulations and endless procession of crusty, murderous Aurazellian nobility. A different piece yearns for the impressive sum of the stipend I am to receive once Saerina lives to take her place in the Ossium, serving the Empress Undying. I would drown in enough relic bones and gold to never have to worry about my livelihood—or my family’s livelihood—ever again.

The final piece proves smallest and perhaps the most powerful: the thought of leaving Saerina undefended in this den of inbred necrophiliacs makes me ill.

“If you have a replacement waiting in the wings, I’d be happy to step aside,” I say airily, the nonchalance only slightly muddled by the clink of manacles as I shift on the bench.

“Honestly, you’re wretched,” Saerina grumbles, shoving the antique key into the cell lock more harshly than is required for the simple act of opening. “Perhaps the next time I send you out to get a single answer to a single question, you could try your very hardest not to get arrested, Dervish.” The wrought iron gate swings outward as Saerina wrenches it open.

“To be entirely fair, I _did_ get the information you required, Highness.”

Saerina’s dark eyes snap to mine, torchlight casting an ominous shadow across her gaze. “If you were successful, how in all the Deathless did you end up languishing in a cell for ‘disturbing the peace via riot incitement’?” Four bone-backed fingers make air quotes between us.

I can’t quite smother my grin before it springs across my lips, which only makes Saerina’s expression grow more dangerous.

“The riot was an unfortunate side effect.”

“Of?”

“Robbing a bunch of salt brained sailors blind in several stimulating rounds of Shut the Coffin.”

As a delicate hand dives in her robe pocket, Saerina’s lips and eyes go carefully blank. I’m all too familiar with my charge’s mannerisms at this juncture, so when she spikes the pinch of gravedirt between her fingers to the ground, I jerk back as much as my bonds allow. In the space where my feet were twists a featureless zombie, its drooping flesh sickly pale and limbs jerking to catch the key Saerina tosses to it. Rather than releasing me herself, Saerina uses her undead servant to do so, and the sting to my pride can be felt like the slice of a war fan, painless until several seconds after the blow lands.

“We’re returning to the Palace.” With two clicks of Saerina’s tongue to command it, the zombie shambles behind her.

Great.

* * *

I feel Saerina’s disapproval like a Highland blizzard over the next several days. Even delivering the piece of news she wanted so badly, an inquiry about a minor noble in the Ossium who has relatives in Aurazell, isn’t enough to save me from being shut out.

In a way, this is reassuring. I’d be more worried if she didn’t withdraw into her meditation cellar at my perceived failure than if we were on speaking terms.

With less than a month to go until Saerina Ascends to the Ossium, as is her rightful place as firstborn to the Aurazellian Queens, I find myself restless all the same. My contract was for a two year duration, but now, each sundeath feels like seven for how slowly it passes. To keep up appearances, I remain by Saerina’s side as I have for years, a dark purple shadow armed with war fan, saber, and a subservient (and patently fake) demeanor.

And, when Lady Saerina is ensconced in research too esoteric for my tastes (or maybe Saerina just prefers to keep her secrets), I spend what time I can in the Training Hall.

On one such afternoon, I’m greeted warmly and immediately by a familiar face.

“Devi! I see you return once more from the clutches of death!”

Almost everyone has a height advantage on me due to my less than towering stature—even Saerina, who my thoughts inevitably turn to in her absence—which can make it difficult to be stern and imposing when the situation merits. Captain Marnita-rim-nisheshu, fellow countrywoman and one of the few I would consider a friend in this utter helltrap, smiles down at me, arms extended.

When I let her wrap me in a hug, she sweeps me off the floor in a manner entirely unfitting of the Royal Honor Guard, which means it’s perfect for me.

“Air,” I wheeze, which prompts Marnita to drop me, her rich amber eyes shimmering with delight.

“Sorry,” Marnita replies, sounding anything but. “When the princess stalked the palace ground like a Revenant who’d caught scent of its soul for two days, I thought surely you’d managed to get your contract struck down once and for all.”

I glance from side to side, relieved to see no lingering eyes or ears in the training hall. Serving as Honor Guard to any of the heir apparents is considered a greater honor than undeath from shore to shore in the Ossium Empire, and if anyone heard myself or Marnita talking so freely about it, heads may literally roll.

Which is something, contrary to the impression you might have so far, that I generally prefer to avoid.

“Her Highness was worried, was she?” I ask with a grin, clasping Marnita’s hand in my own as we draw closer.

“Not certain I’d use the word ‘worried’, but she was vexed all right.”

I file the information away for further study. Saerina and I have far more differences than we do similarities, but one key distinction we share is our ability to mask our true feelings. Me, because I’m a spectacularly talented commoner in a sea of necromantic fossils far from home; her, because she’s been groomed from birth to assume a role on the Empress’ Tridecagon, which houses some of the most powerful necromancers from coast to coast. 

“Saerina is vexed, the sun dies in the west, the waters of the Burial Sea are black as pitch. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Marnita’s lips twist in a sudden smile. “Before we spar, there is a tidbit I meant to pass along.”

“Oh? Please, do tell. Gossip and _kafe_ are the only things that keep my heart beating most days, and you always have the best gossip.”

“It’s not gossip exactly, but it is about Lady Saerina. A guard posted in the Archives alerted me to Lady Saerina’s repeated presence within it. They asked me because of a concern about increased security, but seeing as they didn’t report you in the Archives as well, I thought you ought to know.”

Through immense force of will, I resist the urge to cover my face with my palm and slide my hand down the length of it. Of all the idiotic schemes for Saerina to hatch, this one has to be one of my favorites in recent memory. A fortnight away from Ascending to the Tridecagon and she’s lurking in shadows that offer perfect convenience for any would-be assassin.

Typical.

“Thank you, Marnita. I am in your debt.” I sweep into a formal curtsy, the purple silks of my overskirt spread into a perfect semi-circle. “Now, if you’ll excuse my rudeness, I think I’m going to skip our sparring session and attend to some pressing business.”

“Try to leave her in one piece,” Marnita says, giving a hearty guffaw behind me as I exit the hall.

* * *

“What. Were. You. _Thinking_?”

Saerina doesn’t lift her gaze from the tome spread out in front of her, her spectacles glittering lilac from the cold flame she’s summoned to read by. “Dervish, please. You’re well aware there’s to be silence in the Archives.”

“You know where else there’s silence? In the grave. When you’re dead. Because you’re a fool who takes on a competent Honor Guard and then doesn’t use her.”

“I didn’t wish to distress you,” Saerina says, waiting just long enough for my heart to soften towards her foolishness before adding, “I know how upset you get when confronted with complex passages beyond your comprehension.”

I’m going to strangle her. I don’t care if it will get me thrown in jail—for real, this time—and void my contract. I am going to place my hands around her high-collared throat and make her into a corpse these Aurazellians love so much.

“The only thing beyond my comprehension is _why_ in all the Deathless you can’t at least tolerate my presence while you read all the musty tomes your heart desires.”

“You make it hard to focus.” She finally looks up to meet my eyes, expression unreadable beyond the twist of her brows and lips in a slight scowl.

I’ll show her ‘hard to focus’.

I eye the round, obsidian table that Saerina has various scrolls, cryptoboxes, books, and parchment sheets anchored by inkwells spread out on. It’s tempting to flip the table in its entirety, but since I’d probably end up cleaning up the mess all by myself, I settle for the nearest cryptobox, slapping it off the table and scattering its metallic contents all over the black veined marble floor.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Did you say ‘I will stop being an arrogant, suicidal twat and listen to my Honor Guard’? Because that’s what I heard.”

There we go. That struck a nerve.

Saerina pushes her chair back and stands from it, back ramrod straight, black eyes doing their best to bore holes clean through my skeleton. “You will not use that language with me, _Whirling Dervish_, not whilst you continue to be in my service. You are my Honor Guard, not my nursemaid, and I will continue to pursue my research as I please.”

There are many words one could use to describe Princess Saerina Locrux. Powerful, intelligent, regal, talented, confident—even beautiful, if you can get past the prickly exterior. My personal favourite, however, is _infuriating_.

I draw myself up to my full height and do my best to avoid staring down Saerina’s chin in the process. “See, that’s where I beg to differ, Your Highness. My entire life for the past seven hundred sundeaths has been to keep you out of harm’s way, which sometimes requires a certain amount of nursemaiding to be done. Particularly, like now, when you insist on shedding the most important layer of protection you have against the enemies of Their Royal Majesties.”

Saerina laughs at this, haughty and mirthless, which only makes the blood in my veins burn hotter. “You flatter and forget yourself in the same breath, Dervish. I am the most powerful corpseraiser the Aurazellian line has seen in a century. I am perfectly capable of defending myself.”

Now, to give myself credit, I’m not usually prone to losing my temper. I grew up in the arid wastes known as the Infinite Barrens, where discipline wasn’t only encouraged, it was necessary for survival. I'm also the oldest of five children, which allowed me to develop a patience that borders on the supernatural. Furthermore, I hold the position of Saerina’s Honor Guard because I am the third woman ever to master The Path of A Thousand Vicious Steps since the art was formed, skilled in the literal and figurative dance of death.

But something about Saerina has always managed to get the best of me, in more ways than one.

“‘Perfectly capable’, she says. Hah! Maybe all this time skulking alone and unprotected in the dark has made you unable to realize when you have your inflated head shoved up your arse.”

“When have I ever needed you, Dervish?” Saerina snaps back, looking down her bespectacled nose at me in a way that further diminishes my self control.

“Not two sundeaths after the ink dried on my contract, I saved you from assassination via cardiac poison in your wine,” I spit, temper incinerating all propriety.

“My food taster would have discovered it.”

My laugh has an unusually bitter edge. “Ah, yes, someone would have still died, but not you… and that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Fine. What about the cut strap on your saddle two months after?”

“An unfortunate oversight, but now I no longer travel by horseback, therefore you need not prove your worth through inspecting mindless beasts for evidence of tampering.”

“The time your grave dirt was replaced by deathcursed soil.”

“I was aware the entire time and attempting to trace the curse to its source, which you ruined, I might add, by dumping it in the latrine before I could complete the identification spell,” Saerina hisses.

“If you’re looking for an apology, save your breath. Also, the crowd of assassins at the Witchmarket at the solstice.”

Finally, finally, a trace of dusky pink creeps into Saerina’s cheeks, her onyx eyes taking on a fever shimmer. “You showed up late to that attempt, Dervish, because you’d spent the evening in a brothel! I’d already dispatched a majority of the assailants by the time you deigned to arrive!”

Oh, hells. Maybe I should have left that one off the list.

“Late or not, I still showed up, which is more than I can say for your record as my patron across the years! And so what if I was in a brothel? Dedicating myself entirely to your service doesn’t exactly leave me with time to have any sort of permanent companionship!”

“Forgive me,” Saerina says, each word parceled off in neat, acerbic bites. “I didn’t realize a pretty face and a nice pair of tits held so much sway over the illustrious Whirling Dervish.”

I know I’m in danger when the fire in my blood turns to raw, pure ice.

“_Don’t._”

“Don’t what?” Saerina parries, equally as dangerous.

“Make assumptions.”

“Why would I need to assume when I know? Tell me, Dervish, does the fact that Nineveh has never sent so much as a letter of inquiry to Aurazell trouble your sleep? Haunt your dreams?”

“You—” I hiss, surging forward and stopping a hair’s breadth away from causing the Heir Apparent bodily harm. “You will _never_ say her name again, you wretched, horrible, waste of a human.”

“Call me all the names you like. It doesn’t change the fact you’re bound to me for the remainder of the month, nor the fact that the great love of your life abandoned you like a carcass to a sandstorm in your beloved Barrens.”

I bite my cheek until I taste blood, weighing the pros and cons of striking Saerina down where she stands. I decide for the metaphorical instead of literal.

“Enjoy your imminent death. I’m ending my contract.”

Saerina has the nerve to smile, catlike with the keen edge of a dagger. “Enjoy your conversation with the Queens, and safe travels back to the Barrens.”

I storm out of the Archives, nearly barreling into a black robed acolyte, and head straight for the audience chamber.


	3. Chapter 3

“I wish to relinquish my contract to Her Highness Saerina Locrux.”

From my kneeling position in front of the thrones, I watch as the queens look to one another, the silver of their bonethorn crowns shimmering from the motion. 

“Rise, Whirling Dervish,” Her Majesty Obrigid Locrux commands, the loops of her pale white braids arranged so that they frame her angular face.

Having relinquished my war fan and saber before entering the royal chambers, I stand with my hands clasped in front of me, awaiting further direction from the Queens of Aurazell. Black, black, and more black. From obsidian thrones to marble walls to the veils that cover the eyes of the monarchs, all there is to see is a colour that mirrors my mood. It makes me long for vivacity, for the delicate lavender of the night blooming jasmine back home, for the rich blue of the ocean we call the Womb, for the olive of Nineveh’s eyes that lives only in my memory now.

“Why do you ask to be released from your contract with so few sundeaths remaining of its duration?” Her Majesty Vahilde Locrux asks, silver painted lips slanted in a thoughtful slash.

I must tread carefully here. I am afforded every respect that a joyless country such as Aurazell offers, but speaking ill of Saerina to her own mothers would be suicidal… and I’m not quite that desperate, yet.

“Her Highness has made it abundantly clear that not only will she not require my services, but that our personal differences will preclude our continued cooperation towards her Ascension to the Ossium,” I say smoothly, hoping I’m not treading too close to monster infested waters.

“Our daughter has always been difficult, stubborn, and driven to succeed, but never cruel. Yet your demeanor suggests she’s inflicted a wound too dire for you to bear. Might we inquire as to the nature of this injury?” Vahilde asks.

I thank all the Deathless that I’m able to stifle my laugh.

“I would rather not trouble Your Majesties with the details. Suffice to say, I am prepared to relinquish the full sum of my stipend and all other compensation as a result of the early termination of my contract.”

I have served in the courts of kings and queens across the Empire, but I’ve never felt as naked and exposed as I feel under the dual, piercing scrutiny of Aurazell’s Queens. 

“If you would permit us honesty in return, this turn of events suits us well. There will be no need to forfeit your compensation.”

Confusion threatens to show on my face, though I manage to hold it at bay. “Begging a million pardons, Your Majesties, but I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“As a master of The Path of A Thousand Vicious Steps, we do not believe we need to provide a complete history lesson on the status of the Empire. You are well aware, we trust, that Aurazell has long been the weakest member of the Ossium, our preferred arts of corpseraising and soulspeaking all but mocked in comparison to soulcasting, bonemending, deathcursing, gravecarving and necropurging, among others,” Obrigid says.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I demure, tiny bells of alarm beginning to toll in the back of my mind. That fact is part of the reason I’ve had to work so hard to ensure Saerina’s Ascension—though her arrogance in delivering the information was astounding, she really is the strongest candidate Aurazell has put forward for Ascension in generations. In the event of the royal firstborn’s death, other noble houses gain the right to submit their own firstborns for consideration.

Like I said: inbred, power hungry necrophiliacs.

“We’ve encountered a small difficulty, one Obrigid and I have been hard pressed to solve. Saerina has requested, in a problematic flouting of tradition, to extend your contract until she has resided in the Ossium for a solar year.”

Saerina… wanted me to stay _longer_? I flash back to our argument in the Archives not hours prior, and while it does nothing to dampen the lingering anger I feel, it does add to my current confusion.

“I see, Your Majesty. Is this because, while other provinces send their candidates with their Honor Guard, Aurazell’s Heir usually Ascends alone?”

“Correct,” Vahilde says, silver lips plastered in a completely unreadable smile. “So, were the three of us in agreement that your contract be terminated, the provision in the soulcast would allow for its termination. Saerina need be none the wiser, and you can return to the Barrens with enough riches to live through the rest of your life with every comfort you could imagine.”

In the Path of a Thousand Vicious Steps, there’s a maneuver called The Siren’s Feint. It occurs when your opponent offers you a wondrous opportunity, an opening for attack, that appears too good to be true. 

This, to me, feels like a Siren’s Feint. Too good to be true.

“Again, I beg forgiveness if I overstep my bounds, but did Her Highness give a reason as to her request to extend my contract?”

“Saerina said that she felt your presence was needed in order to ensure her smooth, successful transition from Princess to member of the Ossium. Naturally, this is something we are severely disinclined to allow, foremost because an Aurazellian necromancer ought need no one but themselves to succeed.”

Need. I should be furious at Saerina—I still am, somewhere. However, hearing that she needs me sparks a different fire within me, a protective ember that, if properly tended, could easily become an inferno. It’s the largest snarl in a complex tangle of emotion that aches when I poke at it too hard, examine it too closely, so I set it aside for now. 

More importantly to the discussion at hand, I’m sort of pissed that her mothers are throwing her to the ghouls in the name of tradition and honor. And by sort of pissed, I mean _really_ pissed.

“If I recall correctly, there are no Imperial Decrees that prohibit an Aurazellian heir from taking their Honor Guard with them,” I say, struggling to keep my demeanor placid. “Her Highness would not be breaking any laws.”

“And yet betimes, the force of tradition is stronger than law,” Obrigid says, white braids swaying as she shakes her head in (feigned, I believe) sorrow.

As someone wiser than me once said—fuck tradition.

“If Her Highness has requested an extension of my contract, I formally withdraw my request to terminate it,” I say, the words leaving my mouth before my brain has a chance to stop them. “I will continue to serve the Aurazellian monarchy until my services are no longer required.” Once I finish speaking, I sink into a kneel, head bowed.

“Are you certain?” This from Vahilde.

No, not at all, I think.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Then you are dismissed,” Her Royal Majesty Obrigid says, and I can’t shake the feeling I’ve set myself on a path from which there is no turning back.

* * *

I don’t speak to Saerina herself for three sundeaths, and wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, she doesn’t speak to me either. Truthfully, my master would be ashamed for my professionalism to lapse this badly, but she is on the other side of the continent and not here to see it. No matter how much I play the scene with the Queens over in my mind, I cannot for the life of me determine why I turned down the offer, aside from my intuition about its honesty. I certainly didn’t do it for Saerina, who sank lower than I thought even her Aurazellian lack of empathy capable of.

Loyalty, misplaced though it might be. It is the only coin I pride myself in spending, and my pride seems to be involved in every decision I make these past several sundeaths.

We may have gone on not speaking until the day Saerina was scheduled to depart had she not knocked on the door to my quarters first, quarters directly adjacent to hers.

“Come in!” I call, continuing to splash water from my silver, skull beveled basin onto my face.

“Dervish.”

My hands stop midair, droplets of water pinging gently into the pool below.

“Highness,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m forced to take several slow, deep breaths through my nose to steady myself before I pat my hands and face dry.

When I turn to face Saerina, she’s more haggard than I’ve seen her in recent memory. Her brown skin has an unhealthy, waxy cast to it, her normally bright onyx eyes bloodshot and bleary. The silver paint on her heart shaped lips is worn off and smudged in several places as she grimaces at me.

“I… this is not easy for me,” she begins, and there’s a dangerous sway in her stance which prompts me to take a few steps closer.

“You don’t make anything easy,” I retort, regretting the bitter flavor of the words as soon as they pass my lips.

“A fact I need no reminder of,” she replies, leaning against the door frame. “Might you invite me in?”

I slice through the air with one hand in a harsher version of the normal ‘come right in’ gesture.

“There is a puzzle I cannot solve no matter how many solutions I try,” Saerina continues, sitting on the bright orange lounge I had custom made for my quarters a bit too quickly for my comfort.

“If you’re asking me for help, you made it quite clear the last time we spoke how much you think of my intellect. Right up there with dog shite and people who talk during plays.”

Her grimace contorts further, turning her expression pained. “Again, I need no reminder. The puzzle in question involves your conversation with my mothers.”

I hesitate. I’m unsure of how much Saerina knows, although I’m quickly finding out her web of knowledge has far broader reach than I’d anticipated. “What of it?”

“You’re still here.” There it is—truth, plainly spoken, a rarity for Her Highness.

I opt for the Serpent’s Strike, a decisive maneuver made with no second guessing. In this case, it’s also a lie. “Ah, right, about that. By the time I requested an audience, I’d decided the gold was worth sticking it out for. Two more weeks for the choice of no contracts ever again? An easy choice.”

Her features smooth into the cool, unreadable beauty I’m accustomed to, delicate hands folded in her lap. “I see.”

“Do you need something?”

“I… Dervish, I would like you to accompany me to the Ossium. To extend your contract by the duration of a year.” This would move me more—move me at all, to be precise—if Saerina didn’t look as though she’d swallowed down a thimble full of maggots.

“Why?” I ask, folding my lithe arms over my chest and regarding her. “You don’t need me.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I had any other recourse.”

“Oh, I see, so I’m your last resort.”

“Deathless!” Saerina exclaims. “Why do you always twist and contort my words until they no longer resemble their original intent? You’re my first choice, Dervish, and you’re the only one I can trust with the task at hand.”

In two years, I have seen Saerina wear as many masks as there are leaves on a tree. She is cunning, difficult to read, impossible to deal with. But here and now, I see my first hint of the vulnerable young woman underneath the royal facade, a woman who has been under tremendous strain and pressure her entire life. It reminds me in some ways of my own journey, and no matter how hard I try to stop it, I feel my heart lose a vital piece of its armor against sentiment for Saerina Locrux.

“You realize going into that viper’s nest with you will require a massive bump in pay.”

“Name the sum. It’s yours.”

Wow. She’s really and truly serious.

“One more year, Your Highness, and then I’m out for good. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

A reserved smile crosses her silver stained lips. “No more extensions. You have my word.”

“What is this plan, anyway?”

Saerina stands from the couch, swaying to one side before correcting her posture. “The demon is in the details, Dervish. You’ll… we’ll talk….”

Ingrained reflexes means I reach Saerina’s side just as she crumples to the ground in a faint. Despite her height, she’s barely more than skin and bones, near weightless in my arms. I cradle her head as I lower us both to the ground, shaking my head even though no one is around to see it.

“Highness. Highness. _Your Highness_.” The last repetition is accompanied with a light slap to the cheek, which gets me no response.

Sigh. Of course. On the verge of a breakthrough and Saerina Locrux faints when she’s almost to the crux of it.

I can’t help but laugh at my surprise to find her body warm and supple against mine as I lift her from the ground, arms tucked under her knees and behind her shoulders. Corpseraiser she may be, but still human beneath the necromancer, and I wonder distantly why I never made that connection before.

Thankfully, she chose an opportune time and place to faint from exhaustion. I use the key dangling from her royal black robes to unlock the partition between our chambers and push the door open with my shoulders. With as much gentleness as I can manage, I lay her out on her massive canopy bed, its black and purple sheets even more luxurious than my own. Deciding that stripping her into more restful clothing would be six shades of unwise, I settle for covering her with the down comforter folded at the foot of her bed. She won’t freeze to death, at least.

Once my work is done, I linger for a minute longer than necessary.

“Don’t need a nursemaid my ass,” I say, rolling my eyes, then retreat to my own chambers to get an evening’s rest.

* * *

As it so happens, I find out the details of Saerina’s plan two sundeaths after my contract has been re-soulcast, though not at all in the way I expected.

After an uneventful day concluding with Saerina and I bidding each other a polite (if stiff) good night—complete with her denial of exhaustion though it trails her like a waking shadow—I mark off another day on my mental calendar and go through my nighttime routine. I might be ridiculed by Saerina for the practice of stretching and cleansing prior to a night’s rest, but it’s never served me wrong, so I continue the habit.

Preternatural darkness shrouds the halls of the palace, so at first, I mistake the sudden guttering of the candles lining the wall to be a residual effect of royal magic. Only when the room plunges into darkness so black I can’t see my hand in front of my face and the horrid scent of copper, sulfur, rot, and lilies fills the air do I know with chilling certainty.

Lilies. My mind flashes to the cream coloured flowers on Saerina’s bedside table, one of the only gentle touches in an otherwise unwelcoming chamber.

“Revenant,” I breathe into the opaque air. My heart began to pound as soon as the room was robbed of light, but when I hear a torn, guttural moan from Saerina’s chamber, the sound inhuman and haunting, it threatens to jump out of my throat.

Muscle memory guides me to my saber and war fan stored on their wall rack. I open the fan halfway with a metallic whisper and charge towards the door that separates our chambers, trusting my memory to serve as my eyes. Though my grip on the knob is clumsy with my saber in hand, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Locked.

“Highness. _Saerina_?!” I call through the door. A flash of lilac light emanates from the crack beneath the doorway, followed by a muffled grunt and another distorted howl.

The main door to her chambers is more likely to be locked, so I rear back and drive my shoulder into the wood as hard as I can. When it doesn’t budge, I take several steps back and decide to rely on my powerful legs, dancer and warrior all in one. The door does yield to my kick, though it’s an effort to maintain my balance as I stumble forward from the momentum.

I have read of Revenants. When one prepares to be the Honor Guard to a royal necromancer, one does kind of need to be well versed in necromantic threats. Seeing one in person, however…

No amount of tutoring could have prepared me for the sight.

Saerina has managed to light the room with cold flame, though the darkness the Revenant radiates veils the flame in translucent black. The Revenant itself has a humanoid shape and yet every second it remains in my vision, its features shift and change, making it physically painful to look upon. Marnita’s face grows out of the back of the creature’s head, Saerina’s hair writhes upon its head, the silver lips of the Aurazellian Queens line its spindly arms. With every blink, a new set of faces and features writes itself upon the creature’s body in constant, grotesque flux.

More importantly, it mimics Saerina’s hands as it wraps them around her throat, lifting her bodily off the ground.

I follow the Path. I become deadly grace.

My angle of attack means impaling the monster would risk impaling Saerina, so I leap forward and extend my war fan to its full reach, slashing with the curved blade at its edge. Though its flesh peels back and black ichor streams from the wound, it does not release its grip. Saerina’s eyes bulge dangerously where she dangles from its clawed hands, her mouth silently gaping for air, the cold flames guttering like the natural candles in my room. With my options dwindling, although I know the end result won’t have the permanence I’d like, I adjust.

I decapitate the Revenant with my saber.

It has one of the intended effects. Its lower half releases its grip on Saerina and she falls to the marble floor, tangled with the body, gasping and wheezing for breath. I insert myself between the Revenant’s head and Saerina, fan and sword still extended in a defensive posture.

“Saerina. Can you breathe? Can you cast? We don’t have much time,” I say, voice eerily calm.

A strained inhale followed by a cough is the only response.

So be it. I will hold. 

With a terror that feels like poison sloshing in my guts, I watch as the Revenant begins to reassemble itself, tendrils of viscera-like ichor forming a bridge between severed head and body. They’re foul necromantic constructs, theoretically forbidden, bespelled to follow their targets to the end of the earth. Once set upon their course, the only options are for the target to kill it or for it to kill the target, at which point it decomposes to a pile of ash.

This one, now standing once more with an unnaturally long tongue lolling out of its jawless face, staring bright hate with Nineveh’s eyes, has its sight set on Saerina.

“Hello, darling,” I purr, then launch myself into a full on frontal assault.

Aside from the whole ‘murderous semi-immortal rage’ thing it has going on—oh, and wearing my former wife’s face, that too—it doesn’t pose much of a challenge for me. It lands several clumsy blows against the shield of my war fan, its human fingers extended into curved, wicked claws. Spin, parry, duck, evade, flourish. This is a rhythm I have trained for since I was a girl, a dance I know better than I know anything else in the world. My purpose here is to buy Saerina time.

“Anytime you want to purge this, that would be fantastic,” I call behind me, grimacing as the Revenant roars a wave of foul air into my face from a mouth situated where its forehead should be, with a scarred set of lips I recognize as my mother’s.

I kick over one of Saerina’s trunks as the creature charges at me, causing it to tumble head over heels and sprawl on the floor. It recovers with inhuman speed, leaping through the air—not towards me, but towards its target, Saerina. Legs coiled, I prepare to spring to her defense before I see what awaits the creature.

Saerina no longer needs defending.

Her entire body glows like purple lightning. Her sclera have bled to pure black along with her veins, which throb and pulse with necromantic power. With her teeth bared in a snarl, she latches onto the Revenant with both hands and unleashes her magic. When wielded against a living creature, necropurging robs it of its life force and grants it to the necromancer. When used against an undead construct, well…

It becomes a battle of magical will, and there is no battle of wills Saerina Locrux has lost in our entire working relationship.

As long as I live, I will never forget the piercing howl the Revenant makes as Saerina ends it with decisive finality, a howl made with a mouth that has too many tongues and too many teeth. Its entire form blazes with purple necromantic energy for a searing, painful instant before it’s reduced to a pile of ash, some of which slips through Saerina’s fingers as she stands panting.

Sweat runs down my back in hot rivulets as I watch Saerina relinquish her grip on her necromancy. Once her eyes have returned to their normal coloration and her veins have faded back into her skin, she looks to me.

“I must say, however much I think my family can disappoint me, there’s always a lower depth to descend to,” she sneers.

“Family?” I ask, still catching my breath.

“Obviously, Dervish. To construct a Revenant, one requires a list of exceedingly specific items, and even though this construction was corrupted, it held enough of the required materials to leave only one plausible suspect.”

“You’re going to have to flip the dial on the niche necromancy if you want me to follow.”

“My _parents_. By the Deathless, I thought a passable knowledge of necromantic principle was supposed to be one of your redeeming qualities.”

“Yes, passable, not ‘born with an urn of grave dirt in my chubby baby fist’ sorts of thorough.” Why does Saerina possess the innate ability to make me lose all my courtier training at the drop of a hat? “Why in all the Thirteen Kingdoms would the Queens be the ones to assassinate you?”

Saerina’s face scrunches up in a scowl, her almond eyes narrowed to slits. “I suppose now is as good a time to discuss as any, but first… could you please get a robe? You’re horribly distracting parading around naked with your weapons drawn.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of me when I glance down. In my haste to dispatch the Revenant, clothing was the least of my concerns, and it’s only now as the battle fervor fades that I take note of my nudity. I walk a little slower to my quarters than the situation might require—Saerina may not appreciate the years of effort that went into the body that protects her, but it doesn’t mean I won’t show it off. A little.

I return to her quarters with all the pertinent parts covered in an amethyst silk robe. Saerina has taken a seat on the edge of the bed, spectacles on, her hands folded neatly in her lap. I notice her knuckles are more pale than the surrounding skin, and for once I don’t comment on her discomfort.

“You’ll want to sit down for this one, Dervish.”

Something in Saerina’s tone sends chills running down my spine. Nevertheless, I take a seat on the bed beside her, leaving an appropriate princess-bodyguard amount of distance between us.

“I’ve made a discovery, one that could change the shape of the Empire as we know it. While I don’t believe my mothers know the specific nature of my discovery or my plans as a result of the knowledge, I believe they know enough to have decided it would be better, _safer_ were I to not Ascend.” Saerina makes the word ‘safer’ sound like a swear.

“You’re sounding very Aurazellian right now. Having just saved you from a Revenant intent on crushing your windpipe into parchment, some directness would be great.”

Saerina rolls her eyes and brushes a strand of her hair behind her ear, but for once does as I say. “Every Aurazellian heir has Ascended with no Honor Guard. Coupled with the fact that our country is the unfortunate butt of every necromantic joke from here to the Womb, and the unfortunate reality that I have been fending off assassins since I was a toddler, I decided to do a little research. And by a little, I mean I have been searching for an answer to a single question for years: why, no matter how hard we work, no matter how talented our necromancers are, we are doomed to be last among many.

“I found the answer not in a tomb or a magic artifact but in a family tree, of all things. The noble I sent you to question not a month past… well, the question was irrelevant. The fact that they are alive, however, that they exist at all… that’s a different matter entirely.”

I allow my bewilderment to show plainly on my features. “Highness, remember my request to get to the point? Consider it repeated.”

Saerina heaves an impressive sigh, pushes her spectacles back up her face, and continues, her tone growing more animated. “That noble had a fairy tale passed down through the generations of their line, but as it so happens, it wasn’t a story. The end result, which I know you’re chomping at the bit for me to say: the Empress Undying isn’t a mysterious demigod from an unknown House as the myths state. She’s _Aurazellian_—the second Aurazellian, in fact, to ever Ascend to the Ossium. Furthermore, the Empress was never intended to rule forever. Heirs from each province were meant to rule in turn in the interest of fairness. That was the whole original _point_ of the Ascension—to determine the next worthy heir, not to grow fat on prestige and excess wealth like a herd of golden cattle.”

I must be dreaming. This is insane even for Saerina’s lofty standards.

“This is insane,” I say out loud, just in case she doesn’t realize.

“On the contrary, Dervish, this is the most sane thing I’ve ever said or done. Can you not see the opportunity this affords?”

“Opportunity? Opportunity for what? To throw away one of the most privileged positions in the Empire in exchange for a messy, slow death? Because that’s what it sounds like to me.”

Saerina laughs, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s as beautiful a sound as it is rare. “No. We’re going to share this information with the Ossium and break the system. And once the system is broken, I will rebuild it. Better.”

“Again, _not_ seeing how that doesn’t end up with our corpses hacked to bits and used in necromantic experiments. Or with the entire Empire thrown into chaos. Also, why in all the myriad hells would the Ossium believe you?”

“Because,” Saerina says, a beatific smile wreathing her features, “I’m going to soulspeak the remains of the First Empress and have her tell the Ossium herself.”

The cogs of my brain jam and clank uselessly against one another for several seconds. 

“Excuse me, you’re _what?_ Isn’t soulspeaking a single generation back hard enough? Let alone… I don’t know, twenty or so?”

“Fifteen, actually, and yes, you’re correct that soulspeaking with that much time elapsed between death and casting would normally be impossible. However, you also forget that I’m the most accomplished soulspeaker of this—and possibly other—generations. I’ve managed eight generations back on my own. On top of the Ossium, the locus of the Empress Undying’s power? Fifteen will be child’s play.”

I study Saerina’s face for any sign of humor and find zero trace. “This is insane,” I repeat.

“This is ambitious. Tell me, Whirling Dervish, would you rather aim for glory and accomplishment beyond your wildest dreams, or go back to languish in the dunes of the Barrens?”

“I’d rather aim for living a long, healthy, fruitful life. I’m not even in my third decade yet, Saerina.”

“And what would that life consist of? More contracts for gold and relic bones you have no need of? Going back to the Barrens and being treated as lesser because of outdated prejudices about which of the Deathless you worship? Watching as the Thirteen Kingdoms let the nobility grow richer and the peasantry suffer with each new generation of Ascendants? We are powerful, but we have spent so long steeped in necromancy that we have forgotten an empire is useless without living subjects.”

I blink once, twice, genuinely stunned by the passion in Saerina’s words. Here I thought she was just another Aurazellian, cutthroat and out for blood—or in her case, rotten body dirt—like the rest of them. It doesn’t change the fact that she is, on most occasions, horribly unlikeable, but it does grant me a genuine measure of respect for her.

“You’re serious.”

“As the grave, Dervish.”

“Why do you need _me_ for this plan, anyway? Once you Ascend, shouldn’t everyone stop trying to murder you in your sleep?”

A flicker of deep emotion, as dark as an ocean trench, passes through Saerina’s eyes. “You would play a critical role in the plan. In fact, I…” Her onyx eyes drift closed and I hear her take a deep breath. “I will regret saying this, I’m certain, but I can’t hope to accomplish this feat without your help. I need you.”

Need.

It’s the same word that caught me off guard when the Queens said it, and it catches me even more off guard now, what with it being willingly spoken from Highness Saerina Locrux’s lips. My heart twists behind my ribs, a sweet and painful ache I do my best to disguise.

“I have a feeling I’ll regret asking this, but what part will I play?”

Saerina’s wicked smile is equal parts unnerving, sharp, and to my surprise, attractive.

“Aside from the usual of employing your prowess for physical violence in my defense? You, my dear Dervish, are going to be the one to steal the ashes of the First Empress and bring them to me at the locus.”

I laugh until I weep, until Saerina worriedly pats me on the back as I wheeze to catch my breath, until my lungs and chest burn from my aching, abused muscles.

“Oh, is that all?”


	4. Chapter 4

We flee the Palace under cover of darkness that very night at my suggestion, a suggestion Saerina not only agrees with but is already prepared for. It occurs to me several times over the following days that maybe, just maybe, I have no idea who Saerina Locrux really is after all.

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

Saerina glances over from her perch on what I’ve lovingly termed the zombie palanquin. With acquiring horses being too risky and foot travel too slow, Saerina fashions us mounts made of exactly two items: chairs and zombies.

Yes, it’s as morbid and strange as it sounds, and yes, it actually works.

“Talk you into it? You barely needed convincing, Devi,” Saerina replies. We’re both in commoner’s clothing; I’ve traded my silks and skirts for sturdy boots, plain leather trousers, and a serviceable tunic, and Saerina sports a combination of plain dresses and traveling gear in place of her royal robes. Given how isolated we were for the past several years, it’s unlikely anyone will recognize us, but we are now ‘Sae’ and ‘Devi’ instead of ‘Highness’ and ‘Dervish’.

Though I know it’s only for the sake of anonymity, I kind of enjoy the new informality.

“You know what I always say. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Who else would be stupid enough to court certain death in this scheme of yours?”

Saerina surprises me with a tiny smile across the road. Our eyes meet briefly before hers flick away, staring off at some point in the red-orange horizon.

“Who else, indeed,” she muses quietly.

* * *

“By all the _fucking_ Deathless, Sae!” I call out, narrowly avoiding a swarm of zombies that appear from everywhere, the ground and the trees and my very own tent, streaming towards a pair of would be thieves and devouring them before I can even draw my war fan.

“You said to keep watch. Consider watch kept.”

Damn fool princess.

* * *

We avoid inns unless absolutely necessary, and Saerina and I agree tonight’s deluge counts as ‘absolutely necessary’.

It feels better than I care to admit to have a long bath, lukewarm though it might be, and even better to scrub a week of dirt off my tan skin while in it. Running a brush through my unbound hair? Nearly orgasmic.

As I roll out my bedroll on the squeaky wooden planks of the inn room floor, Saerina gives me a puzzled look. “What are you doing, Dervish?”

“Devi. The walls have ears, you know.”

“Devi,” she amends with an impressive roll of her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Preparing to sleep?”

“We have the hardest stretch of travel to conquer tomorrow and we’ve been sleeping on the cold, hard ground for weeks. I should think it would behoove you to take advantage of a real bed while one is available to you,” Saerina says, pointedly not looking at me as she speaks.

“Me? Share a bed with you?” I blow air through my lips like an ornery horse.

“I won’t offer again. Must you make everything an ordeal?” Saerina snipes.

“Look who’s talking.”

Still, I end up laying next to Saerina on the slightly lumpy mattress, and even the presence of Her Royal Highness and said lumps can’t stop the long, pleased sigh from escaping my lips. Though I’m right at home, I can feel her radiating tension even though my back is turned. 

“Deathless, relax. I don’t bite. Unless asked nicely, that is.”

“Lewd,” Saerina mutters, but not three minutes after, I hear her breathing settle into the even rhythm of sleep.

Only the terrifying knowledge of what we’re meant to accomplish in the coming week keeps my thoughts from drifting back to Saerina: the enticing curve of her hips, the brightness in her eyes when she smiles, the passion in her voice as she expounds on the details of her plans.

Hells, I must be lonelier than I thought.

* * *

Right on schedule and with far fewer complications than I had anticipated, we arrive at the Ossium.

I have no words adequate enough to describe it. All imperial subjects have seen the fortress in paintings or scrolls, and yet to see it in person makes one wonder if the artists had only heard of it secondhand. Obsidian spires with silver parapets and sprawling arches take up what must be literal miles. It is all the gothic extravagance you could imagine, topped neatly with a massive skull, rose blooming from its spread jaws and crown upon its head, that is the official symbol of the Empress Undying.

I suddenly feel very small and very, _very_ unprepared for the first time since I completed The Path.

“Don’t lose your nerve now, Dervish,” Saerina mutters under her breath. For our approach to the Ossium gates, we’ve changed back into our royal garb, only slightly worn and wrinkled from the weeks of travel.

Right. Steal—temporarily borrow—one of the Empire’s most prized relics so my necromancer can overthrow the establishment and assert herself as the dominant imperial authority. No sweat.

“You wish,” I murmur with a pleasant smile.

When we arrive at the checkpoint before entering the Ossium proper, there are several members of the Imperial Necromantic Guard waiting. Their expressions are blatantly puzzled as they take in the pair Saerina and I make.

“Her Royal Highness Saerina Locrux, Ascendant of Aurazell,” I announce, sweeping into as low a curtsy as I can manage.

“Your Highness, we… weren’t expecting you,” a male guard says, bushy brows furrowed in thought.

Read: we were told someone managed to off you right before the Ascension.

“And how is that my concern? I’m here for the Ascension.” Atta girl.

The guard’s eyes shift nervously back and forth. “Of course, Your Highness. We’ll just need to see your soulmark before we let you through.”

Saerina sneers. “As though I would allow someone the opportunity to wear my corpse, but certainly, if you _insist_.” She rolls back her sleeve to reveal an intricate, skeletal pattern of scarring on her forearm, one I’ve seen a few times (most of them on this trip) but never knew the meaning of.

A different guard places a black rod against the skin and, after a few moments, the scars and rod alike begin to glow with black-grey light, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” the first guard says. “Apologies for the inconvenience. There’s only two turns of dust until the ceremony begins, so Guard Rexuell will escort you to the Ascension Hall.”

I know what you must be thinking by now—surely, a riveting account from the first Aurazellian Honor Guard to witness the Ascension in centuries will follow. Unfortunately, I can sometimes be a disappointment, and this is one of those times where I’ll admit to such.

But… I can recount what I _do_ remember.

The thirteen Tridecagon members to be, all of them clad in black, most of them with the complexion of sour milk, kneeling in a semi-circle in front of an empty throne.

The Empress. By all the Deathless, the Empress. When she arrives, I nearly do lose my nerve as Saerina taunted earlier. Though I have trained in the political arts and know the types of considerations that go into appearance, it is another thing to be the intended audience. Six feet tall at least, with a spoked bone headdress fanning up behind her head giving her another two easily. Dress in a red so dark it looks black, gauntlets of silver bone starting at her hands and climbing to the biceps, eyes behind a veil of sightless black.

“Welcome,” she says in a voice like old bones and rich eternity. Magic, Saerina had explained on our way to the Ossium, magic and not godhood.

Still, it is easy to believe the myth and not the logic.

And of course… Saerina. Always Saerina.

During our separation, they must have changed her into the new ensemble as befitting a member of the Tridecagon. Royal black robes with hints of purple, an attractive sash containing several urns and pouches to store grave dirt, a corset and matching gauntlets of bone along her ribs and arms. And of course, the silver lips of soulspeakers, of the most prominent soulspeaker in the empire. Heart shaped face and onyx eyes that meet mine across a crowded room.

A private smile for me, of all things.

“Saerina Locrux, the Corpsedancer,” the Empress proclaims.

I sink to my knees three heartbeats before the rest of the crowd.

* * *

The best laid plans, of course, always have a hitch. Saerina the Corpsedancer hasn’t been back at my side for half a turn of dust before the hitch arrives.

“If the Honor Guards of the Tridecagon will follow me,” a nameless captain bellows out over the general cacophony, “we’ll proceed to the Mausoleum for the viewing and ablutions.”

Shit. Shit, shit, double shit, triple shit. I do my best to turn ever so slowly towards Saerina, making sure to keep my expression carefully neutral despite the sudden spike of fear. It’s tradition that the Honor Guards are taken to the Mausoleum to pay their respects to the ashes of the First Empress, a reminder of the necromancers and empire that they serve, but it isn’t supposed to be for turns yet.

“I’ll be where I need to be. Go, Devi,” Saerina breathes into my ear, an uncharacteristic smile on her face as she pulls back from me.

I mirror her expression for any onlookers and nod.

The other Honor Guards and I are herded into a small group. The rest of them keep a sizeable distance away from me, which suits me just fine. They don’t know what to make of an Aurazellian Honor Guard, particularly one wearing skirts from the Barrens and trained in an art form they don’t understand. Broadswords, long swords, swords and shields, even a dangling flail, but the only war fan and saber to be found among the group is mine.

If Saerina’s ambitious, outrageous, insane plan works, I don’t know how many of them will live to see the broken Empire rise again.

We’re led through the twisting obsidian halls with an ease I envy. Saerina had brought maps along for our journey and I’d studied them as best I was able, but nothing compares to actual experience. It must take a half a turn before we descend a final, spiraling staircase and stand outside the silver doors to the Mausoleum proper. Before we enter, the captain goes through a litany of instructions, all of which I know and accordingly tune out. I do my best to look contemplative and reverent like the other Honor Guards—how much I succeed, well… I don’t piss myself, so that’s something. Panic claws at my ribcage in painful swipes. How am I to get past not only a considerable contingent of the Imperial Royal Guard, but every Honor Guard of the new Tridecagon as well?

Though I didn’t intend for the last thought to be a prayer, the Deathless must take it as one, because it’s then that I realize: we’re to conduct our ‘worship’ one at a time.

I take a spot near the back of the line, hands clasped in front of me as I wait in silence. In a double stroke of luck, the Honor Guards that enter do not exit through the same door, which means there’s another way out. I call upon all my training in the Path to steady my heart and summon calm focus. It doesn’t stop my mind from working, however, and a single question crosses my mind.

_Why?_

Why am I doing this at all? It’s treason in the most flattering of lights, and I had every opportunity to back out. And though Saerina wasn’t entirely wrong about my love of excitement and adventure, this will go way past excitement. As soon as I think her name, I know the true answer.

Saerina.

In all my contracted years, both with the Aurazellian princess and others, I’ve never had a more difficult client. I’ve also never had anyone admit the inherent imbalance and inequality in the Empire aloud, the condoned murder and petty infighting and uneven distribution of wealth. Necromancy above all, death above life.

Not until Saerina has anyone acknowledged that life is the other side of the coin of death.

Not until Saerina has anyone told me they need me.

And, in the moments before I either complete the greatest task I’ve been given or get brutally slaughtered in the process, I have an equally terrifying realization.

I need her, too. Not just the repair of the empire she promises with her ambition, but _her_, every miserable, stubborn, arrogant, beautiful, brilliant inch of necromancer.

The thought should make me scream—how many insults have I endured from her, how many unappreciated hours have I spent on her—but surprisingly, it makes me feel steady. Calm.

This is just another horseshit crazy errand Saerina has sent me on, and that makes it feel manageable. Familiar. Welcome.

As I hold that thought in my mind, I am ushered into the Mausoleum.

* * *

A woman’s got to keep some of her trade secrets, but suffice to say through creative application of a Barrens concealment called a sandstorm, quick reflexes, a good memory, and the pommel of my saber, I abscond with the First Empresses ashes. I even manage to avoid getting terribly lost in the numerous passages of the Ossium while avoiding pursuit. Maybe I hit the guards a little harder than I meant to and bought myself more time.

It takes about half a turn before I push through the doors leading to the antechamber of the throne room, the area Sae identified as the locus of magical energy that will allow her to soulspeak the First Empress.

(This next part of the tale should be familiar.)

This could be going worse.

“Devi!”

I look towards the sound of my name and find Saerina the Corpsedancer, her slender brown hand raised and fingers extended, flapping back and forth in a desperate beckoning gesture from fifty feet away. Not too bad—I can sprint the distance in no time to close the gap between us.

I glance behind me, and that’s when I decide that actually, no…

This situation has reached peak ‘worst’.

At least twenty black and silver robes of the Imperial Necromantic Guard are crowding into the antechamber to the throne room. I could reasonably fend off half that number to retreat if I had both sword and war fan—at least enough to buy my headstrong, stubborn, wonderful idiot of a necromancer enough time to do what she needs to do—but as my weapon hand is currently occupied by a heavy urn full of ashes, I’m fairly certain I’ll be shred to ribbons within the next tic of a bonedust clock if I don’t adjust.

“Devi!” Sae calls again, more urgently than before. She pantomimes a wind up and a pitch with one metacarpal-gauntleted hand.

She cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, be serious about me chucking the ancient, revered, and did I mention _crucial_ object we stole from the Imperial Necromantic Palace’s Mausoleum in the first place. I give my head a firm back and forth shake, almost enough to dislodge my braids, as the herd of black-robed soldiers flows towards me like a veritable river of living death.

Our eyes lock across the chamber and Sae nods frantically, motioning with both hands and bracing herself to catch.

With my choices quickly narrowing to throw or die, I choose what any sane person would choose.

I take the silver, ruby encrusted, engraved urn in my hand and throw it across the room as hard as I possibly can, then sprint across the chamber, heaving deep breaths into my burning lungs.

And, midair right in front of my eyes, magic happens.

Saerina raises a hand, her eyes pitch black now, veins stark with necromantic power. The lid of the urn came off as soon as I threw it, a cloud of ashes in the air above me. Except, as Saerina mutters a few guttural phrases, the cloud of ash begins to condense into an amorphous, semi-solid form. As I reach her side, the form looks decidedly human and the colour has begun to leach from Saerina’s entire body, including her veins and eyes.

There’s a reason soulspeakers paint their lips silver, and this is it—an aesthetic tribute to the toll of the magic.

The urn shatters on the marble floor. Saerina’s milk white hand trembles like a leaf before falling to her side, still shaking. My heart races.

The spirit of the First Empress stands before us. A portrait hanging the capital of every city, depicted in every temple to the Deathless, an image we all see not long after our own mother’s faces. I would recognize her anywhere.

The Imperial Guard, an arm’s length away from Saerina and I, stop in their tracks, their piety and their battle fever at odds with one another. Clearly, they recognize her too.

“**Blood of my blood who calls me back to the realm of the living, how long have I waited for one such as you**,” the spirit of the First Empress says. I’ve only seen a smattering of soulspeaking, but I’m fairly certain it’s not supposed to feel like a series of thunderclaps sounding in your head.

My would-be captors—or killers, I can’t be entirely sure—seem just as confused. I block Saerina’s body as best I can with my own, wary of what the Imperial Guard may try.

“O Honored First Empress, I am humbled that you have answered my call and blessed by your presence,” Saerina responds, white eyes and white lips arranged in an expression somewhere between pain and bliss.

The First Empress, her eyes of a familiar shape and hue (Saerina’s, when she’s not bleached bone white in the soulspeaking trance), stares at the Imperial Guard. “**Why do you not kneel before me?**”

Were I not paralyzed with awe and fear, I’d kneel too. The Imperial Guard drops to their knees in a black ripple of a wave.

“**Good. Obedience still holds sway in my court, it seems, though many other parts have lost their way. Is that not why you Spoke to me, blood of my blood?**”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. We have lost sight of your vision and have become consumed with the quest for power. Mothers devour children, friend murders friend, and all suffer. Our Empress should be our guide, but no longer is the title of Empress earned by merit, but held by falsehood, and it is this falsehood I came to correct,” Saerina says, her voice steady but holding a tremor I’ve never heard before.

“**You Speak true. It was mine own daughter who cut the thread of my life short to work her strange necromancy, to further her lust for power. By Speaking me into this realm, I can correct this imbalance.**”

My heart lurches into my throat as I watch Saerina begin to convulse, white eyes rolling back to reveal more white. I barely get my arm around her to keep her from collapses. The convulsions pass within a handful of breaths, yet still she shakes in my grasp.

“Saerina?” I ask quietly, all too aware of the specter of the First Empress in front of me, a specter that is growing more and more _solid_ by the second.

“**The Empress Undying is no more.**” The soul snaps its fingers, making an audible noise, and the forms of the kneeling Imperial guards crumple to the ground. “**And so too must go her Undying Legions, bound to her depravity through blood. Their hearts were impure. Loyal to a locust.**”

Saerina serves as a study in shades of the various shades of white: cream sclera, tundra lips, chalk hands. “I agree, Your Imperial Majesty. I came to the heart of the Ossium to Speak with you and request your aid in reshaping your Empire. If you were to speak to the Tridecagon, tell the truth of the story, and name me as your successor, I could finish what you started.” Saerina’s body no longer has the usual warmth one associates with living, hale human beings, and this fact alarms me.

The First Empress, meanwhile, continues to grow more and more _discrete_ from the rest of her environment, crown of braids piled regally on her head, the infamous skull tattoo on her face in vivid black, bloodrose coloured lips bright.

“**Why should I require a successor when you have connected us through your Speaking? As I have watched from beyond, the only irrefutable fact I have learned is that I cannot trust a proxy to run my empire for me, whether she be of the First Blood or not.**”

That sounds… ominous.

“Devi, she’s… she’s trying to possess my c-c-corporeal form through the soulspeak,” Saerina says through her clenched, chattering jaw, eyes wide and staring into a distant, unknown place where I can’t follow.

Okay, now it’s officially more than a hitch in the plan. My mind races for possible solutions. The Bloody Guillotine? No, that would require a physical body, and besides, it might kill Saerina in the process. The Snowbound Corpse? Deathless, I have never wished for an ounce of magical talent more than I do in this very moment.

“**You have my gratitude for Speaking me back, blood of my blood, and allowing me to purge the taint from my Empire. It seems that I must oversee its recreation personally. To judge who is worthy by my own scales.**” She steps closer to Saerina, smiling. “**Your sacrifice will be revered for centuries to come.**”

Oh, _hells_ no.

“**Even now she thinks of binding you, Honor Guard, tying your life force together to only possibly save her own. Is this the reward for your endless reserve of loyalty? Loyalty that has gone far past the coin you were promised?**”

Blood frigid with fear, heart pounding with terror and anger alike, I thread my fingers through Saerina’s hand.

“Do it,” I say, watching as shock writes itself on the features of the First Empress, her silver painted lips fixed in a perfect ‘o’. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it.”

Saerina, white eyes unreadable, squeezes my hand, and speaks magic into the world.

I think I die, or at least… it feels like I die. The world goes as black as a Revenant’s aura, an excruciating stab of pain lancing through my chest. I am being ripped apart in ways that run so much deeper than flesh. The memories that make me Whirling Dervish are torn away, one by one, washed away in the preternatural white of Saerina’s soulcasting face.

Then, the pain scatters like a cloud of sand tossed to an errant desert wind, leaving nothing behind in its wake except the sweet bliss of empty dreams.

* * *

When I awake, I am no longer in the throne room. In fact, I don’t know where I am or how much time has passed. But what I do know is this: Saerina hovers above me, appearing exhausted but in full, living, flushed, breathing, _wonderful_ colour.

“Dervish.” Are those… _tears_ in her eyes? 

Seriously, I must be dead. “Sae?”

“You were…” Her features shift in flux, first a scowl, then a slightly manic smile, before settling into a gentle curve of silver lips. “Magnificent. An utter idiot. Perfect.”

“Wait, I’m confused, which is it?”

Saerina answers with a press of her lips to mine, warm and firm and so very alive. “How would you feel about a promotion to the Right Hand of the Empress?” she breathes when we part.

I chuckle weakly, then pull her down for another kiss, which Saerina not only doesn’t resist but returns with a delightful amount of ardor. Finally, I answer, “Someone has to keep you alive. Besides, I think you may have murdered me, bound my soul with yours, and made it into a permanent contract.”

“Then that’s a yes?”

Like I said, there’s not a battle of wills I’ve seen Saerina Locrux lose. Including the long running one against mine, I guess.

“A reluctant, terrified, and excited yes.”


	5. Chapter 5

I know what you must be thinking.

‘_Really, Dervish? You’re just going to gloss over all the exciting details of stealing an ancient jar of ashes that ended up to be_ extraordinarily _more evil than you anticipated, tell us you died, imply you were brought back to life, and end the story there_?’

Yes. And clearly, since you’re reading this, no.

First off, these are my memoirs, and in memoirs you get to gloss, embellish, and omit as you see fit—especially when you’re the Right Hand of the Empress. It is known.

If you want only the most accurate historical facts, there are plenty of budding historians who have worn their fingers and quills to dull nubs detailing the Aurazellian Resurrection. Like most shifts of power that happen through shows of force, it was a messy, blood stained affair, one whose sordid details I don’t feel like recounting.

As it turns out, Sae being the only one to emerge alive between herself, the Empress Undying, and the entire Imperial Guard did a lot to inspire sudden loyalty and devotion from the other members of the Tridecagon. There were a few squeaky wheels that needed some grease—and by grease, I absolutely mean a prolonged, intimate date with my war fan. Politics is and always will be a viper’s nest of complication, and thankfully The Path had a lot to say on the types of battles left for Sae to fight.

And as for Sae and myself, well…

* * *

“It’s almost like… you _want_ to keep your only sister waiting,” I say, a hitch in my breath as Sae executes a delightful curl of her tongue against my aching flesh.

Her narrowed onyx eyes appear over the hem of my skirts, a bundle of voluminous purple fabric she’s hiked up to my waist with alarming precision. “Am I boring you, Whirling Dervish? I would think you’d have little energy to spare for speech.”

“Never. You know I love the sound of my own voice. It adds to the mood.” I grin at her, which only makes her eyes narrow further.

“I see you leave me no choice. As always.”

She disappears and starts the process anew, right from the beginning, giving me only the most teasing of touches and flicks. By the time she finally closes her lips around the bright point of pleasure between my legs, I don’t even have the breath remaining to appropriately express my gratitude.

* * *

A handful of turns later, I work on lacing up one of the many intricate gowns that fill the wardrobe of the new Empress. Sae dropped the ‘Undying’ from the title when she assumed the mantle two years ago as a gesture of her sincerity regarding new laws of succession; inferring weakness in her rule based on the title change, however, would be a mistake.

I treasure times like this the most—the simple rhythm of threading ribbon through eyelets, the warmth of Sae’s body against my fingertips, the act of lifting Sae’s hair from her neck and bestowing a kiss to the exposed skin once I finish.

“All set.” I could outsource this task to a royal handmaiden if I had any desire to, but I don’t.

“Thank you, Devi.” Her tone is as aloof and reserved as ever. Through our bond, however… her presence is like plunging into the cool depths of the ocean on a sweltering summer day. Consuming and welcoming.

Things haven’t always been perfect. I’m sure my attempt to storm off to the Barrens early in Sae’s reign is well documented in those histories I mentioned, as was the ensuing panic after Sae and I both fell grievously ill because of it. The deathbond she forged within us to keep the First Empress in the beyond has its pros and cons, and a big con is my required proximity to Sae for our bodies to keep functioning as expected—you know, breathing lungs, beating hearts, the whole nine hells. She’s researching a way to reverse the process along with some of the more academically minded in the Tridecagon, but for now…

For now, I don’t mind. We’ve had our share of conflict, but we have also had our share of love, one that grows with each passing day of peace. I thought my heart dead and gone for good with my first wife, and though she was the last person I would have suspected to bring it back to roaring life, Sae has done so with flying colours. A different kind of necromancy, I suppose.

While I’m lost in my thoughts, Sae turns to regard herself in the mirror, and when my attention falls to her, I am struck anew by the transformation. This personage, the one with silver lips and unveiled eyes and a streak of alabaster through her hair (a remnant of her battle with the First Empress), belongs more to the Empire than to me.

Lucky for the Empire, I don’t mind sharing. Much.

“You are looking spectacularly hot and intimidating today, Your Imperial Majesty,” I say with a smile.

“Intimidating enough to ward off potential fratricide?” Sae lifts one eyebrow to punctuate the question.

“Oh, of course. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.” I pause to pull out a thick card from the hidden pockets sewn into my skirts, a card depicting a woman about to walk off the edge of a cliff. “Besides, I drew The Fool today. Perfect for new beginnings.”

Sae regards the card thoughtfully, her eyes flicking to mine afterwards. “Are you certain it’s not referring to your general attitude and demeanor? It would be an easy mistake to make.” A tiny, imperceptible smile teases at her painted lips.

Some things will never change.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading. Comment and kudos are an absolute joy. <3
> 
> I can't go without noting how huge of an inspiration [Gideon the Ninth](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42036538-gideon-the-ninth) by Tamsyn Muir was for this exchange piece. If you love lesbians, necromancers, space, dark humor, and horror influenced sci fantasy, please do yourself a favor and go pick it up. You won't be disappointed.
> 
> Another influence worth a shout out is [Seven Blades in Black](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40389431-seven-blades-in-black?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=0TsnwgDtcC&rank=1) by Sam Sykes. If you love steampunk-esque fantasy with badass, canonically bi babes (and a WLW relationship I still think about on the daily), I'd highly recommend it.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I'm sometimes on Tumblr [@aliatori](https://aliatori.tumblr.com/)


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